Bruce Phillips turned out to be a pretty common name.

Mick went into his PI databases and was able to find a half dozen Bruce Phillipses in the LA area. One was six years old and in first grade and another was ninety-six and in a nursing home, but the other four could all potentially be Tammi's correspondents. In his emails, Bruce promised Tammi a future filled with fame and glamour as an actor, but gave few personal details about himself and no clue about where he worked. It made it difficult to narrow down the list.

"There's nothing in these that even hints at the name of a talent agency," I said to Mick, waving the stack of emails in the air, "which suggests that he probably isn't a legitimate agent."

Mick sighed. "No, he probably isn't," he agreed. "And there's nothing that suggests that he and Tammi knew each other before she came out here for school. That blows my theory about Tammi never intending to go to college out of the water."

I frowned. "So if she originally expected to go to college, then why does no one remember seeing her at UCLA? I mean, she would have attended at least a few classes before she decided to drop out. "

Mick shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me."

We looked at each other across his desk. I could tell from Mick's frown that Tammi's disappearance was really bothering him. I tried to think of a few helpful ideas, but nothing came to mind.

"What are you going to do?" I finally asked.

Mick lowered his gaze to the computer monitor. "I've got the driver's license information for the four Bruce Phillipses," he replied, gesturing at the screen. "I'm going to do some good old fashioned legwork and go to their homes and interview each of them. With luck, one of them will be the guy who's emailing her."

Good old fashioned legwork. I glanced at the clock. It was after three on a Saturday afternoon. I'd been looking forward to a quiet evening at his place, putting our almost-cohabitation arrangement into effect. Interviewing the four candidates, assuming he even found them at their homes, would take six or seven hours.

So much for a quiet evening together.

"Are you going to interview all of them today?" I asked wistfully. I didn't try to disguise the fact that I hoped his answer would be no.

He looked at me and smiled. "I was thinking I could prioritize. According to their driver's licenses, the four Bruce Phillipses range in age from nineteen to fifty-five. The nineteen-year-old is probably too young to pose as an agent – fake or legit. Since the emails don't suggest any kind of friendship with Tammi, I think we can move him to the bottom of the list." He leaned forward to study the monitor closely. "And the fifty-five-year-old Bruce Phillips has a special license. He's a truck driver and I'm guessing he's on the road a lot. That drops him to second-to-last." He sat back. "So, I was thinking I'd pay the other two a visit," he said. "I can show them the emails and study their reactions."

I hated to be a downer, but I had to point something out. "You realize Bruce Phillips could just be a made-up email name for someone whose real name is something else entirely," I said.

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "I know. I'd call Logan and ask him to get online and see what he can find out about the email account, but he's at a Star Wars convention this weekend and won't be available til Monday."

"Logan goes to Star Wars conventions?" I asked. It seemed a little odd for a vampire.

Mick grinned. "Logan likes anything science fiction. Star Wars, Star Trek, Comic Con – he goes to 'em all. It's about the only thing that will get him out of his basement."

I've met Logan a couple of times. He's a bit heavyset and he definitely has a geeky air about him. So I guess I shouldn't be surprised by the sci fi thing. "Just how old is Logan, anyway?" I asked Mick.

He paused. "You know, I'm not really sure. He's older than I am – I think he was turned sometime in the nineteenth century. He's got an original edition of Frankenstein, and that was published in 1817."

"Wow."

"Anyway," Mick continued. "I was also thinking that while I interviewed two of the Bruce Phillipses, you could make a trip to your place and bring some of your stuff over. You know, toothbrush, pajamas, whatever you need to settle in a bit. Then we can stay in this evening and watch a movie or something."

Or something.

It was my turn to smile. "Sounds like plan," I agreed.

After Mick left in search of Bruce Phillips Number One and before I headed back to my apartment, I went to his bathroom to make a quick inventory of his toiletries. I felt a bit sneaky looking in his medicine cabinet, but then I reminded myself that it was now my medicine cabinet, too – at least sort of. And I needed to know what I should bring from home. I'm not a high maintenance diva, but a girl has to have a few necessities handy.

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I was a little surprised to find that Mick's cabinet contained most of the things you'd normally see in a human male's bathroom; shaving stuff, toothpaste, shower gel, shampoo. Apparently vampire grooming isn't all that different from humans, I thought. Another myth bites the dust. The shampoo was an overwhelmingly masculine brand, but I figured I could make do with the rest of his toiletries. And I was delighted to find that he had a good stock of towels – large and fluffy. They were nicer than my towels at home.

I went back to my place and loaded up my largest suitcase with PJs, underwear, a few outfit changes and some girly items he was lacking; lotion, facial cleanser, cosmetics, and a hair dryer. I glanced at my feminine hygiene supply and decided to hold off packing any of it. Mick and I once worked a case where we found a flash drive in a box of tampons. He'd handled it better than a lot of guys, but I didn't think he was ready to see those products greeting him in his bathroom in the morning. We were moving pretty fast as it was.

He wasn't home when I got back to his apartment, and I felt a small thrill as I used my key to let myself in for the first time. I was just about to drag my suitcase up the stairs to the new bedroom when there was a knock at the door. I glanced at the security monitor and wasn't too surprised to see Josef Kostan standing in the hallway. I think I've already mentioned Josef. He's Mick's oldest and best vampire friend, and he's a frequent visitor to Mick's apartment - or at least he is when he isn't off wheeling and dealing on behalf of the hedge fund he owns. I don't know exactly how wealthy Josef is, but I'm pretty sure his assets measure in the hundreds of millions, if not billions.

I opened the door.

"Beth," he said, nodding in acknowledgement and moving past me into the apartment. He looked around expectantly and then frowned. "Mick's not here?" he asked.

I smiled. "Hello. Nice to see you, too, Josef. No – Mick's out at the moment, working a case. I expect him home any time, though."

Josef raised his eyebrows. "You expect him home any time?" he repeated. "Well, that sounds very …domestic."

I'll try my best to describe Josef, although I'm not sure I can do justice to his personality. He's a complicated guy. Josef is a four-hundred-year-old vampire who looks like he's barely twenty-five. He's average height and slim, with boyish blue eyes, close-cropped sandy hair, and a mind that is never still. Unlike Mick, Josef embraces being a vampire and treats humans, if not with disdain, then with indifference. We're sources of liquid refreshment – here today and gone tomorrow. He's smart, cynical, and impatient; and he can be very ruthless when he thinks someone is in his way.

All of which makes him sound unlikeable. And yet... I like him. I think it's because of the way he is with Mick. Josef would die rather than say the words out loud, but I'm pretty sure he loves Mick like a brother. The two of them argue, tease one another and disagree over a lot of things. When the shit hits the fan, however, they have each other's backs. Josef tries to help Mick adjust to life as a vamp and Mick tries to keep Josef from getting buried in his cynicism. They are each better for knowing the other.

Mick is more open about his feelings for Josef. He'll acknowledge his friend's shortcomings, but defend him to the hilt if he thinks Josef is under attack. The only time I have ever seen Mick cry is when he believed Josef had been killed in an explosion.

Observant as always, Josef's eyes quickly zeroed in on my suitcase, sitting at the bottom of the stairs.

"Are you and Mick going on a vacation," he asked. "Or are you moving in?"

For some reason, I didn't want to tell Josef about the bedroom or the key. It felt like Mick's story to share with his friend. So instead I replied, "Neither. I'm just keeping a few things at Mick's to make it easier if I end up spending the night."

He shrugged. "So then I guess it has nothing to do with the furniture I saw Mick ordering a couple of weeks ago? Because I could have sworn he was getting a bedroom set up for you."

"You know about that?"

"Yup." His expression was serious and not at all encouraging.

I sighed and prepared myself for a barrage of sarcasm. Josef doesn't think human-vamp relationships are a good idea, although for an entirely different reason than Mick. Mick worries about both parties getting hurt. Josef just doesn't think humans are worth the effort.

I looked down at my hands. "Okay – we may as well get it over with. Go ahead and give me the lecture about how Mick and I are being stupid."

Josef regarded me steadily. "Normally, I'd be delighted to oblige, Beth," he said dryly, "but I haven't seen Mick this happy in a long time – probably for as long as I've known him. I might have even caught him humming along with the radio the other day. So I'm going to hold off on any smart-ass comments about your relationship, at least for now. I reserve the right to bring them up later, of course."

I felt my eyes pool up – just a little. These are the moments that make me believe Josef has a heart under his caustic exterior - even if it's a slightly twisted heart.

I didn't want to get gushy, so I simply said, "Thanks."

He shrugged again. "Well, now that we've established that you're officially the lady of the house, how about getting your guest something to drink? I spent a lot of time on the phone arguing with one of my employees today. I'm thirsty."

I smiled and replied, "Of course," before I realized that I didn't know what kind of drink Josef wanted. Whiskey? Water? Blood? And if blood, then from where? Was there some weird vampire tradition where the lady of the house offers herself up for quick snack? Mick has never drunk my blood – well, except for one time when he was dying from sun exposure - and then he couldn't look me in the eye for a month afterward. But I'd seen Josef drink from a vast array of female friends and employees. Maybe he thought being Mick's girlfriend made me fair game. I looked at him uncertainly.

He gave me a teasing grin, but eventually took pity on me. "Mick keeps blood in his fridge," he explained. "It's not a good vintage – for some reason he likes A-positive, but – hey – any port in a storm."

I breathed out in relief. "Oh. Okay." As long as Josef didn't want my blood, I figured I could handle pouring the stuff into a glass. I'm not particularly squeamish.

I walked into Mick's galley kitchen and opened the door to his large, stainless steel refrigerator. Mick's kitchen is beautiful. It's all top-end appliances that are immaculately clean – probably because they have never been used. I studied the contents.

Josef stepped behind me and touched my elbow. "Not that refrigerator," he said. "Mick's got a hidden one, behind the shelves in the bar. It's where he keeps his more … unconventional beverages. You haven't seen it?"

I shook my head. "No."

Josef rolled his eyes. "Mick's got to get over his thing about drinking blood in front of you," he said. "I know he's not happy about being a vampire, but it's who he is. Feeding in the closet isn't going to change that."

I didn't reply, although I actually agreed with Josef. I don't want Mick to feel he has to hide anything about himself from me. I know he's a vampire and I know he drinks blood. I may as well see him do it. I started to close the refrigerator door, but Josef reached out to stop me.

"Hang on," he said. "What have we got here? French cheeses? Strawberries and champagne? It looks like Mick is planning on some kind of celebration tonight...a romantic celebration. Maybe I should skip the drink and make myself scarce. I don't want to get in the way of true love."

I turned to look Josef in the eye. After a moment, I shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. "Don't rush off on my account," I said. "Mick and I already christened the bed. It works great."

Josef opened his mouth and then closed it. I felt a small glimmer of satisfaction - it isn't often I can make him go quiet. There was a gleam in his eye when he eventually said, "Well…good for you, Beth. I'm glad to hear my boy, Mick, is finally off the celibacy wagon."

I did my best to keep from blushing.

"Still," Josef continued, "I have no wish to be a third wheel. I think I'll just excuse myself and visit you both another time."

He started for the door, but before he could get there, it opened and Mick walked in. He looked agitated. There was a hole in the front of his Henley shirt and it was stained with blood.

"Mick," I cried out. "What happened?"

Mick looked at me helplessly. "I'm not sure," he said. "Someone shot me – but I have no idea who or why." He headed for the couch and dropped tiredly onto it.

Josef watched him for a few seconds and then turned to look at me. "On the other hand," he said, "this sounds like a good story. Maybe I'll stick around for a little while."